


The Heart Wants What It Wants

by thepeskyunicorn



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: (so many blowjobs), A little angst, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Come Eating, Daddy Kink, Deepthroat, Fluff, Lingerie, M/M, PWP, Porn Watching, i'm bad at tagging kinks ugh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-14 11:11:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10535277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepeskyunicorn/pseuds/thepeskyunicorn
Summary: Porn without plot. Not even a little.Credence stays with Graves and tries his very best to seduce him. Luckily, Percival Graves isn't the type of guy who refuses





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's no smut in this first chapter but rest assured there will be a lot in the later ones!
> 
> Thank you so much [Kaz](http://thedestroyeroflife.tumblr.com/) for encouraging me and pushing me all the way with your constant messages and gushing. This one is for you.

“You know,” Credence says, looking up through his lashes at Percival, pushing his half cold mashed potatoes around the plate. “I’m not as innocent as you think I am, Mr Graves.”

Percival sputters, downing half a glass of water as he chokes on the unexpected words from the normally shy boy. “I never thought that,” he objects automatically, wiping his mouth dry. He protests, as is fast becoming the custom, with the same speed and vehemency as he did a month ago when Credence tells him “I’m not worthy of you,” and the month before that, when he bundles Credence home, the shaking and scarred boy whispering “But I have nothing for you,” and the many, many months before that, when they first met, when Credence says, voice delicate and glass thin, “I am no one.”

Credence’s lips quirks into a smile, loading a little of his potatoes onto the fork and eating it. “You do, though,” he says, chewing thoughtfully. “I’ve seen you struggle to shield me when we go outside. The lingerie section. The forbidden books. The infamous alleys whispered about in conversations.” He pushes some meat into his mouth, chewing carefully and swallowing. Percival cannot help but be entranced by Credence’s mouth, his throat. 

“Thing is, Mr Graves,” Credence says, mopping up a stray bit of sauce from the corner of his lips, dabbing it into his napkin, movement shy but determined. “I’m all grown up, and I’m not the broken boy I was.” He looks up, fire in his eyes. “And I know, I was never the sort of boy who could say the word s-s-sexual.” Credence stumbles over it, struggling to maintain eye contact with Percival. “But - but I can do it now. Without blushing.” He gives in to the urge to duck his head, but still pulls in enough courage to look up through his lashes. He try again, voice trembling. “S-sexual.” A sibilant, sliding hiss.

“Sensual.” His voice settles, less breathy, less unsure. Percival sits up, dinner forgotten and abandoned. 

“Sexy.” Credence’s lashes flutter, a peek of tongue at the corner of his lips.

“Sex.” 

His voice has gone an octave lower, soft, desirous. A heavy silence hangs over the table and Percival realises abruptly, looking at his lovely, sweet boy, that he was hard.

He pushes his chair back, the harsh scrape of wood on linoleum loud and grating. Credence startles, high flush spreading from his cheeks to his ears and down over his curling hair to the vee of his shirt. How he’d love to explore where the blush leads, Percival thinks hysterically, eyes wide. But no. Resist. He can’t, he mustn't -

Percival leaves the dining room in a rush, sporting a massive hard on, and Credence has never been more disappointed in his life.

***

Mr Graves ignores him for the rest of the night, holing himself in his study, quietly brooding over his pile of paperwork. When Credence knocks on the door softly to bid him goodnight, a half hearted apology already making his way past his lips, Mr Graves only grunts in reply and flash the quickest look at him. It’s meant to be a fleeting contact, but his eyes lingers on the drooping collar of the nightshirt. Mr Graves’ brows knits together thunderously as he swings back to glare at his paperwork again, and Credence takes it as a sign that his presence is not welcomed anymore.

It doesn’t bother him quite as much as before, Credence thinks as he pads out of the study, trailing his hand on the wooden banister as he climbs up to his bedroom. In the beginning, when he just arrived, the strange manner of Mr Graves disturbed him. The man was kind and generous, more so than Credence has ever encountered in his life, but brusque too. Gruff, and prone to melancholic fits. After a few weeks of gingerly tiptoeing around the man, flinching whenever he thinks Mr Graves seems to be in a mood, the other man catches on.

“I’m sorry, Credence,” he says, voice stricken, brows tilted downwards in desperation as he clenches and unclenches his fist. “I don’t mean to - it’s just -” He sighs, running his hand through neatly gelled hair. “I haven’t have much practice with caring for others. I apologise if it has frightened you but I promise, I promise, I will never, ever hurt you.”

It took a few more weeks for Credence to believe it, but he would gladly set apart his heart for Mr Graves now.

Credence curls up in his luxurious bed, spending a good part of an hour ruminating, casting spells to light up his ceiling in a glow of a thousand magical stars, pondering over nothing in particular. He daydreams, a favourite pastime of his, now regularly indulged, until he hears Mr Graves plodding heavily up the stairs.

He squeezes his eyes close, deepening his breathing as he would when Ma checks on him in the middle of the night. It has fooled her before, and it seems to fool Mr Graves too.

“Finite Incantatem,” he hears, the brightness dimming to black from behind closed lids. He hears Mr Graves sigh, long and deep, hears him walk closer, hears the rustle of his clothes as he bends down to push the fringe off his face and pull the blanket up his body.

“Sweet boy,” he hears Mr Graves murmur, and suddenly, the blanket seems to burn his body up to a thousand degrees, the words making blood thunder in his ears. “My darling. What did I do to deserve you?”

Credence’s breath hitches, but he forced himself to maintain the rhythm of his breaths. Mr Graves’ words is making his tummy flop, his pulse race. What does he mean?

Mr Graves stays for a few more moments, hand rubbing soothing circles on his arm. With a heave, he stands, bending a little to plant a kiss on Credence’s forehead. And then, he was gone.

Credence spends the night thinking about the kiss, the softness of it, and how he would love having those lips elsewhere than his forehead. He leaks all over the bedsheets, writhing and not daring to touch, but when the light of dawn touches his room, they are dry again, as if nothing has happened.

***

“Let’s go shopping,” Mr Graves tells Credence over breakfast, grabbing the coffee mid air as it sails towards him. Credence raises an eyebrow, eyes flicking to the tower of books balanced precariously on the sofa in the living room.

Mr Graves waves his hand dismissively. “Not just for books, although we do have to get you new ones. You’ll need advance copies of potion making and spellwork and I doubt I have old copies in good condition.” He nods towards Credence’s shirt. “New clothes, perhaps, and shoes. You must have outgrown your older ones.” He says this with satisfaction, and Credence blush as he notes how he has filled out over the past six months, no longer a bag of bone and tears .

“It’s no trouble,” he protests, not wanting to distract the other man from work. Mr Graves is an important man, someone who occupies a high position in the magical congress, and it wouldn’t be right for him to squander time away with him. “I can always go on my own.”

“No, no, I insist.” Mr Graves leans forward, earnest. “Besides, spending time with you is infinitely more exciting than filing and reports.”

Credence quirks his lips in a smile. “Glad to see I don’t have much of a competition.”

Mr Graves laughs, a soft snicker. “Anything for you, my boy.”

“Ah.” Credence takes a gulp of his milk, ignoring the shiver that runs down his spine. My boy. What a lovely, possessive phrase. He swallows his drink, letting the cool liquid slide down his throat to calm the heat. 

Mr Graves appears not to have notice. “That settles it then,” he says with finality, charming the empty bowls of breakfast to wash themselves. He gives Credence a long, searching look, as if Credence himself has answers which he does not even know the question to, and give a small nod. “Where should we go to first?”

***

It’s been three months since their last shopping trip together and it was almost enough time for Percival to forget just how delectable Credence looks when he was being fitted.

Mortimer Gaskell is a well respected tailor, craftsman to many suits worn by the distinguished, and an old acquaintance. He keeps a small shop situated quietly in the corner of the busy street and does fittings on an appointment basis. Percival brings them there first, greeting Mortimer by name and gently guiding Credence forward with a hand at the small of his back, reintroducing the boy to the tailor, smiling a little as the bespectacled man tuts and looks over his glasses at Credence’s form.  
“Looking better than ever, Mr Barebone,” he says, turning his back to them and reaching for a roll of material. “Good to see that Mr Graves is taking care of you.” He eyes Percival shrewdly. “As for you, it’s good to see that you haven’t ripped that waistcoat yet. Best cotton from Tunisia, you know.”

Percival shrugs, sitting himself down on one of the armchairs in the waiting room. “Hazards of the job, Mortimer. A few rips and tears cannot be avoided.”

The tailor snorts, muttering under his breath, snapping his fingers for his measuring tape and pins to trail after him. Turning to Credence, he gives a softer, warmer smile. Percival is not surprised. Credence always inspires the best out of everyone. “Shall we get started?”

Percival loses track of time watching Mortimer flit around Credence, measuring and fitting and darting up material with a spry energy more suited for men half his age. He lets his eyes drift off to Credence’s waist, his thighs, his chest, slim and nipped in and beautifully slender, undeniably masculine under the tantalising feminine curve of his spine. 

Credence would catch him staring every few minutes and struggle to hold his gaze in the mirror, his eyes showing off silent happiness as the various shirts, pants, and other clothings start to take shape.

“I’ll wear this one out,” Credence tells Mortimer softly, running his hands down the soft cream sweater, tracing the light pattern adorning the surface. He looks at his reflection with wide eyes, as if it were his first time, deflowered and revealed.

From his position, Percival has the vantage point of the boy’s lovely nipped in waist, sloping down to meet the swell of his ass. He indulges in a few more seconds of admiring, watching as Credence twists this way and that, the fabric tightening and clinging to his behind. Lovely.

Darting his tongue out to moisten his suddenly dry lips, Percival pushes himself up from the armchair, going over to stand behind Credence.

“Beautiful,” he says, raw honestly leaking unbidden into his voice. He flits his eyes to the side, and seeing that Mortimer has left the room to tidy away the remaining material, Percival slides his hands around Credence’s waist, encircling the slenderness, thumbs stroking over the irresistible yield. “I can never tire of seeing you dressed so well,” he tells Credence, voice a low growl now, his pants growing tighter when he hears Credence sigh and whimper, the boy’s body tensing and leaning back towards him.

Percival looks down, spies the abundance of lovely skin beneath his chin, the way Credence’s throat bobs when he swallows, the way their noses almost rub when Credence turns his head to stare desperately at Graves, eyes half wild with lust and unknown want. His lashes flutter butterfly soft, and he stretches his neck, and oh, how Percival wants to brush his lips across silk skin, to kiss, to suck, to bite. How Credence invites him, his own hands shaking and tentative as they cover Percival’s at his waist, his chin tilted away, as if unable to look, as if taunting Percival to sink his teeth into flesh.

And Percival needs to be closer. To push himself towards his boy, press his chest into Credence’s back, to slip a hand under the crisp, white shirt, brush his fingers up taut muscles and pinch his nipples until they were deliciously plump and sore -

But no. Mortimer is back, bustling in with his usual energy, and Percival has to swallow the thick lust in his throat, half regretting the dirty thoughts in his mind. He steps away, taking guilty satisfaction in the way Credence gasps in disappointment and struggles to control himself.

“Send me the receipt,” he tells the tailor, shaking Mortimer’s hand as he gathers the boxes up to be delivered home. “And thank you, for the exquisite work.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all, Percival,” the old man brushes aside the compliment. “It helps when there’s already an beautiful canvas to work on.” He winks at Percival, eyes twinkling with knowledge and this time, it is Percival who blushes.

He brings Credence to the bookshop next, making quick work of the list of books that they needed and a few more. Credence wanders amongst the shelves, emerging from the depths with an armful of tomes, murmuring excitedly and flipping open a few pages to insistently show Percival. It’s endearing, the hunger Credence has to learn more, and he ends up buying all of them even when Credence looks stricken, stealthily putting a few back when he notices the total price of all the books.

They stroll down the street after that, side by side, peering at windows and letting their fingers brush, far enough to pretend nothing is happening, close enough for Percival to want to growl, to push them both into the nearest dark alley and ravish Credence thoroughly, kicking apart his colt-weak legs, frame those knife sharp cheeks and plunder his mouth.

Credence stares with open wonder at the animated shop windows, blissfully unaware of Percival’s inner thoughts, blushing furiously when he comes across a mannequin clad in silk undergarments, all craftily covered with the sheerest of dressing gown. Credence’s footsteps slow as he watches the mannequin pose and twirls, gapes at the hypnotising ripple of silk against the mannequin’s wooden body. Percival, in turn, watches Credence, and sees in his mind’s eye, the boy in the same lingerie.

“Oh!” Percival snaps his head around as someone next to him gasps. He was about to mutter a grumpy, “Move along now,” when he comes face to face with Queenie Goldstein, alone and surprised.

“Director Graves!” She says, looking delighted to see him. Percival shuts down the shield to his mind with a slam, hastily trying to erase the image of Credence in a pair of underwear, the lacy detailing lying flat and snug over the swell of the boy’s ass.

Thankfully, Queenie appears not to have read his thoughts. Her gaze shifts and lights up, he smile growing wider. “And Credence! Why, I haven’t seen you in the office in weeks! How’ve you been, sweetie?”

Credence lowers his chin even as he gives a shy smile. “Very well, thank you Miss Queenie.” From what Percival has heard, Queenie has taken Credence under her wings whenever he visit Macusa, keeping him company and filling him in on the going ons and gossips in the office. He knows that Credence likes the charismatic lady; he would gladly sit by her desk, helping out with one thing or another, contentedly listening to her chatter away.

Queenie’s eyes flicker back and forth between Percival and Credence before looking at the mannequin in the shop window. Her brows furrows for a moment before she grins, a sly edge to it. “Lovely to see you two today,” she says, reaching forward to grab Credence’s hand. “And if you don’t mind, Mr Graves, I’d like to steal Credence away for the afternoon. There are a great many things one can see when one doesn’t bring the director of magical security along!”

Percival frowns thunderously, not making heads or tails of Queenie’s words. Credence looks bewildered, but a an insistent nudging from Queenie, he follows bemusedly, looking back at Percival with an apologetic shrug, smiling reassuringly. “I’ll be back,” he mouths, doing nothing to calm Percival’s nerves, but he lets the boy go, feeling lost and more than lonely as he stand there in the street, his only companion disappearing into the crowds, and the wooden mannequin fluttering away behind him.

Percival sighs, slotting his hands into his pocket and letting his mind’s shield down. Time to return home then, for another cup of coffee and maybe a slow, leisurely wank, all while trying not to think of a particularly enchanting boy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Behold, the aforementioned promised porn. Enjoy!

“Oh, honey, you’ll look ravishing.”

Credence rubs the silky scrap of material between his fingers, entranced and hesitant, trying to imagine how it would look on him.

Queenie had brought him to a shop, one secret and decadent, filled to the brim with all the lovely things he had glanced in the shop window earlier. There were bows and pastels and soft, soft material that he aches to put against his skin, all presented to him by a shopkeeper who barely batted an eye. 

There was the instinctive reaction to shy away, to listen to the scream of invert! in his head, the shrill voice of Mary Lou still reverberating through his skull as Queenie passes him a pair of underwear. It looks like a pair of his boxers, except that the ones he wore were made of coarse, practical material and the pair in his hands is velvety soft and much shorter than he’s ever worn, seamless and delicate looking.

Queenie looks at it with a critical eye, tugging and smoothing, nodding when she finds it satisfactory. “The colour complements your skin well.”

Credence sputters. “I have to wear it?” he asks, blushing furiously, half of him denying the want for it and the other half itching to try it on. Would it fit him? It was made for women and the front seems… lacking. Would it cover him up completely?

“Of course it’ll cover you up, honey,” Queenie says with a warm smile. Credence opens his mouth to protest, flustered. He could never seem to keep his thoughts from her. “And don’t worry, I’m sure Mr Graves would love it too.”

Queenie winks conspiratorially, giggling a little as Credence tucks his chin down but still presses the boy shorts against his skin. 

In the end, they left with five pairs of the boy shorts, all in different colours - some with lace and some without - and a pair of panties, impulsively purchased when Credence picked it up to fondle it with a curious gaze.

Queenie is positively beaming with pride. “Honey, you’re gonna be breaking hearts all over town!” She hands Credence the neatly tied box, enveloping him in a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Where the black lacy one. I think Mr Graves would like that very much.” With one last goodbye wave, she sets off, pleased as a penny.

Credence blushes, blinking furiously to clear the thought of how Mr Graves would show his appreciation. Smoothing a hand on the box, he half-smiles at the ground and turns to head home.

***

It was late afternoon when Percival steps out of the bathroom, towel hanging low on his hips. The light spills golden and lazy from the far east window and Percival slicks his wet hair back, feeling more relaxed than he had been this afternoon. He had filled the bath to the brim with water as hot as he could stand it, settling in and indulging in his fantasies, fucking his fist with slow, unhurried movements as he thinks of thrusting into Credence against the rough brick wall, a notice-me-not charm all that lies between their rough, rushed encounter and the world.

Percival was about to enter his bedroom when he froze at the doorway, eyes widening when he spies Credence sitting demurely on his bed, crossed legged and shirtless.

“Credence,” he starts, stuttering when the boy lights up upon seeing him. “What - what are you doing here?”

Credence blush, lowering his head, the sunlight streaming into the room bathing his shoulders and lashes in an ethereal glow. “Queenie and I went shopping and, and,” Credence flush, pushing aside the blanket and pillow he had piled on his lap. “I bought something that I wanna show you.”

Mercy Lewis. Percival’s mouth dried up and he was sure his brain was momentarily fried. The boy is wearing a pair of fitted lacy boy shorts, black against pale skin, contouring and moulding against his thigh and the - Merlin’s beard - the soft bulge that it seems more of a promise than anything else.

“Credence,” Percival breaths, finding the strength in him to propel himself forward. The boy squirms and tries to tuck himself in, so sweet and shy. Percival lunges forward, taking hold of Credence’s arms, prying him open gently, like a budding flower. “Oh, Credence. You’re beautiful. A miracle.” He growls, bringing his knees up to crawl onto the bed, his towel unraveling and falling away. “And all for me.”

Credence gasps, a desperate sound, hooking tentative fingers around Percival’s neck. “Yes, yes, yours.” He tilts his head up, daring to rest his forehead against Percival’s, eyes wide and pleading. “Please, may I -?”

Percival answers for both of them. Surging forward, he slots their mouth together, hard press of lips and bumping of nose a possessive grip on Credence. He holds Credence’s chin in his hand, coaxing his mouth open with tender licks, guiding the boy into slick slide of tongues as Credence inexpertly presses forward, the heat and unbearable closeness all he can handle right now.

Percival finally breaks the kiss for air, the heaves of his chest turning into breathless laughter when Credence chases after his mouth, eyes still closed and slightly furrowed in consternation. “Darling boy,” he murmurs, gathering Credence close, shifting so that he is sitting against the headboard, tugging Credence onto his lap.

The drag of skin against skin is incredible and Percival groans as Credence unintentionally grinds his silk clad crotch against him. “Again,” he demands, voice low and commanding, wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist and back, dragging him in till they were hip to hip, chest to chest, heart to heart. Credence whines and goes boneless,struggling to rub against Percival, panting harsh against Percival’s lips, delicious flush traveling down his cheeks to his neck. 

Percival drags a hand up to Credence’s hair, tugging on a fistful of hair, grinning feral when Credence’s head falls back, his mouth dropping open at the sensation. He feasts on Credence’s neck, dragging teeth down the lovely column of his throat, dipping his nose into the bowl of his collarbone, worrying little love bites at the juncture of his shoulders. Bending his knees, he thrusts up slow and languid, the other hand moving down to press against one plush cheek, gyrating slow and sure, friction causing the heat between them to rise.

“Did you know,” Percival says conversationally even as his voice turns husky and low. “You’re the most delicious thing I’ve seen. With that plush ass -” He moves to grab Credence’s bottom, squeezing and fondling roughly. The slippery material slides between the crack when Percival pulls the cheek apart, and he takes the opportunity to saw the material against Credence’s hole. Credence bucks forward, clearly enjoying the feel.  
“Those lovely lips,” He bites Credence’s bottom lips and nibbles. “Why, I’d love to stuff my cock in them, pump you full of cum, ‘till you’re leaking from both ends. And you’ll like it, won’t you? I’ll take you again and again, leave you gaping and plug you up for later, and when you’re fucked out and tired, I’ll just have to use you as a hole to be filled, like the dirty fuck slut you are.”

Credence hides his face in Percival’s neck but Percival couldn’t help catching the moan of lust from his voice. Interesting. 

He flips them over, until he looms over Credence’s slight form, pushing his hand up from the butt to thighs, pressing Credence’s legs up, splayed open and revealed. “Hold it there for me, baby,” he says, bending to give Credence’s nipples a suckle, laving against one rosy bud, pulling and twisting on the other with his fingers. He blows on it, licks and nibbles until Credence cries out in sensitivity, his hands slipping their hold on his thighs. Percival catches the leg before it falls, pushing it back, stretching Credence, grinding against him.

“Please, Mr Graves, please…” There are tears in Credence’s eyes, poor lamb, never having been teased and played with in his life. 

“What do you need, darling?” Percival asks, surging up until they are face to face, his body pressing heavily against Credence. When Credence only stares with wide eyes at Percival, stuttering and biting his lips, Percival takes mercy on the boy, taking his lips into a rough kiss.

“Would you like me to mark you?” He trails his lips down to Credence’s neck, applying just the tiniest hint of teeth. Credence’s nods his head, throat bobbing with a swallow. Percival grins, moving down lower. “Would you like me to suck your tits, make them puffy and sore?”

Credence is blushing furiously now but still he nods, his breaths turning short in anticipation. But Percival only passes his lips over them once, briefly, and Credence groans in frustration.

Percival huffs a laugh. “Patience, darling.” He moves down lower still, biting the little pudge of Credence’s lower belly, watching as his boy jump at the sudden sting. Rubbing his cheek over a thigh, he looks as Credence tucks his chin down, making eye contact, knowing his five o’clock shadow must be rasping against thin skin, it’s own form of exquisite torture.

“Would you like me to suck your cock? Take you all the way down my throat, swallow and suck the cum out of you or,” he paused as Credence gives a high whine, clearly in favour with the idea. His cock twitches against Percival’s cheek. “Or I could eat you out. Let you sit on my face as I get you sloppy wet, tongue you over and over until you’re loose and wet and ready to take me.” Percival moves further down, placing a kiss over Credence’s covered hole. Credence makes the noise of a dying animal, head nodding frantically.

“Hmm,” Percival teases the boy’s hole with a thumb, twisting over the furled muscle, watches as the fabric is sucked into the hungry hole, nosing and chasing, needing to lick his boy to the core. “Only good boys get their treat.” He presses his lips to Credence’s cock head, where an impressive wet spot is growing, and turns his head from side to side, tongue slipping out just a little. “Have you been a good boy, Credence?”

“Yes!” Credence cries out, desperate and almost too far gone to say anything else. “I’ve been a good boy Mr Graves. I wanna, I need -”

“Then darling,” Percival says, calm and composed even as he tries not to rub himself off on the sheets. “Beg.”

There was a moment of silence as Credence stares at Mr Graves, uncomprehending. “Please, Mr Graves,” he says at last. “Anything you want. I’m a -” he stutters, trying to fight through his embarrassment. “I’m a - a fuck slut.” He chews his lips, sweet and innocent, the filthy words colouring his cheeks. “I wanna be so full of you I can fill you in my throat. I wanna be fed your cum. Just - put your mouth on me, Mr Graves. Please, anything you want.”

“Oh baby,” Percival swoops down, giving Credence a fierce, possessive kiss. “You’re perfect. Perfect.”

Credence gives himself fully into the kiss, hooking his ankles around Percival’s hips, rutting wildly against him. Percival groans, breaking away to trail his mouth down Credence’s throat, his chest, his belly, until he reaches the boy’s crotch. Looking up with a wicked smile, Percival closes his mouth around the aching bulge.

Credence shrieks, hips almost arching off the bed if not for Percival’s firm hands holding him down. The wet heat and the firm pressure of Percival’s sucking has him thrusting up, crying in frustration when the wet material of his boy shorts acts as an unfortunate barrier between the source of his pleasure. He rakes his nails through Percival’s hair, tugging boldly.

His ankles are curled around Percival’s shoulders, his neck, trying to press the man closer, ask for more, more, knowing that he can’t last longer. And when Percival pulls down his underwear is a slick pull, cock bobbing up thick and eager, before descending to devour him, all the way until he hits the back of Percival’s throat, Credence comes with a strangled scream.

He sees stars for a moment, unmoored and floating high, before he comes down gently, panting and jelly weak from his orgasm. There is a heavy weight around his hip and shoulder, and then he is being flipped over to his front, flailing a little at the abrupt motion. 

Percival is strangely silent. Credence frowns, gathering enough energy to crane his neck back to look at him. “Mr Graves?” he murmurs, confused when he sees the man, gloriously naked, still hard, pulling the rest of the underwear off, pulling open his butt cheeks to expose his winking hole to the cool air.

Before Credence has time to colour at the sinfulness of the action, Percival looks up at him, eyes glittering dark, smirking a little, Bending down, he half-opens his mouth, letting a thick line of cum drip off his lips onto Credence’s hole.

Credence twists his head around, burying his face into the pillow, feeling his cheeks flame. The mouth-warmed cum feel delightfully slimy, dirty yet so right as it drips onto him, Percival’s hooked thumbs around the hole allowing some of the liquid to slip in, the contact making him contract and tighten.

Percival swallows the rest, pushing upwards to kiss Credence, sharing the boy’s taste with him. “This is what you do to me,” he tells Credence, slotting his cock between the boy’s cheeks, pushing forward slowly, gliding easily with the extra lubrication. He speeds up, pushing a hand between their body to chase his finish. “You beautiful, marvelous creature.” Credence nudges his cheek with his nose, puppy eyes wide and pleading. Percival gives him the rough kiss he deserves.

“A miracle,” he pants, painting Credence’s back white when he comes. Percival tumbles to the side, Credence immediately moving closer to press against him, seemingly unperturbed by the slowly drying cum. “My miracle.”

Credence smiles, tucking himself safe under Percival’s chin. “So does that mean you like what I bought?”

Percival couldn’t resist kissing the top of Credence’s head, hand stroking the longer strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “Cheeky boy,” he says affectionately.

“There’s more where that came from,” Credence offers, smile widening. “Maybe I’ll show them off to you tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it, darling.” Percival tangles their legs together, moving around to find a comfortable position. 

Credence hums in assent, already drifting off, mind filling with all the possibilities, feeling more comfortable than he has been since he came to Mr Graves’ house. Maybe, he thinks to himself, he should write a thank you letter to Queenie. After all, it was all thanks to her that this had happened.

***

Credence doesn’t wake when Mr Graves presses a kiss to his forehead the next morning, preferring to snooze when the weight of the bed dipped and the other man goes to the toilet to begin his morning ritual.The sun warming his back made him lazy, gives him an excuse to laze away.

He finally rolls over sleepily when he hears the water running, rubbing the fatigue from his eyes to see Mr Graves shaving, hair already styled and face wet, with absolutely nothing else on.

Credence perks up, leaning heavily on his elbows as he feels himself start to take interest. And if he was being honest to himself, who wouldn’t? The flex of the man’s muscle, the strength that corded his arm and thighs, the broad set of his shoulders as he meticulous clears away the stubble is enough to entrance Credence for the whole day.

Feeling bold, he reaches down, curling a palm around himself, muffling a tiny moan as he thumbs over the tip. Even after his recent liberation, touching himself still elicit sparks of pleasure that he finds intoxicating.

Mr Graves twists his head, smirking when he sees Credence staring shamelessly at him, arm working beneath the blanket in short, jerky motion. “Like what you see, darling?” He half turns, showing off his impressive morning wood.

Credence gasps, feasting his eyes on Mr Graves, watch as the older man abandons the shaver, flecks of foam still dotting his chin, to wank himself off leisurely. “Very much, sir,” he answers, thrusting up into his hand.

Mr Graves saunters out of the bathroom, making a beeline towards him. Even after last night’s intimacy, his closeness still flusters Credence. Slotting himself close, Mr Graves, press their hips together, hard, sliding their cocks together, side by side.

“No need to hide from me, darling,” Mr Graves murmurs in his ears, pulling away just enough to look at Credence, and Credence is hypnotise, addicted to the feel of hard, jumping muscles under his fingers as Mr Graves jerk them off, hip bucking involuntarily at the slide.

“Mr Graves!” Credence digs his nails into the older man’s back, desperate and lost as Mr Graves stares back at him, feeling his release building as Mr Graves pleasures them for long minutes, hands half covering Credence’s, moving faster as his breathing shortens into pants, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smile as Credence’s come coats them. Growling, Mr Graves cups the back of his head, pulling him into a fierce kiss, a clash of teeth and lips as he comes too, slicking both their bellies with white.

They sit there, sharing breaths, eyes half open with tiny kisses every now and then, until Mr Graves clean themselves with a flick of his wrist.

Credence smiles shyly. “Good morning.”

Mr Graves chuckles. “A very good morning indeed.” He rubs noses with Credence, seemingly delighted with Credence in his arms.

Credence hooks his arms around Mr Graves’ neck, settling into the hug. He is warm and satisfied, eyes already weighing down sleepily in post coital bliss. Glancing sideways at the clock, he gives a start, pushing off Mr Graves’ lap.

“Your work!” Credence tugs at Mr Graves’ arm, rolling off the bed to tug on his underwear. The silky material sliding on makes him shiver but he ignores the sensation and hunts for a shirt instead. “You go get ready Mr Graves’, I’ll prepare breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIKE. Y'all thought I was gonna post by the end of the week? I'm too impatient for that. Plus I've almost nearly finished the fic so I'll just publish the existing chapters heh.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly welcomed!
> 
> You can find me at: ambedoandangst.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence experiments on a banana and executes his plans perfectly

Percival sits back, watching the flimsy, translucent shirt flap around Credence’s thighs as he hurries downstairs. His head cocks to the side, commiting to memory the way Credence’s hips swings enticingly and his ass sways, tight and sweet.

Percival sighs, summoning his clothes over, dressing himself reluctantly. The pleasant hum of orgasm still lingers in him and he want nothing more than to lie in bed with his beautiful boy all day, show him the wonders of a lips and fingers and tongues, introducing to Credence his toys, maybe even working their way up to fucking Credence into the mattress.

He tightens the knot of his tie, slicking his hair back determinedly. Later, maybe, for such delicious acts. There is time for that and more, and the promise of a future together, of his and Credence’s future together, makes his heart jump for joy.

It’s been too long. Turning away from his reflection, Percival heads downstairs, cataloging all the tiny additions Credence has added to the house - a cheery painting here, a mismatched coaster there - and the once informal place has gain character, revived itself.

Credence stands in front of the stove, conducting a complex dance, his brows furrowed in concentration as he directs the pan to fry, the coffee to boil, and the bread to toast. His magic is flourishing, more tightly focused now, less of an aimless surge of power. Credence enjoys flexing this freedom whenever he can and Percival encourages it, treasures the warm glow and happy smile when Credence gets a spell right.

Percival could not resist kissing Credence’s cheeks as he pass, hand fondling the boy’s pert butt. “Fey creature,” he murmurs, turning to grab a mug of coffee. “You tease me so.”

Credence squeals a little at the rough squeeze of his ass. He plates the food, eggs and toast sliding neatly before the both of them, a little dab of butter plopping down in the center of the bread. “Not intentionally,” He grasps at the edge of Percival’s jacket, trying to play pretend at confidence, his courage failing him halfway.

Percival catches his wrist, pulling him firmly into a kiss. “I love it when you do.” He tucks into his breakfast, humming with surprise when he tasted how good it is. Cooking may be a chore for both of them but Credence has recently taking a shining to it and it is starting to show. “Do you have any plans for today?”

Surprisingly, Credence blushes, turning red as he stuffs his toast into his mouth. “Lots,” he mumbles around the food, chewing loudly and noisily.

Percival looks at him amusedly. Credence may have much practice in keeping silent and staying invisible, remnants of his painful past, but when coaxed to talk, he can hardly keep secrets.

“What kind of plans?”

Credence considers the question, chewing carefully and taking his time to answer. Finally, after swallowing his last bite, he clears his throat and says, “Stuff.”

Percival holds his eyes, prolonging the contact. It’s his best interrogation technique, and he munches on his egg as Credence squirms and blushes some more, peeking up at Percival.

Taking a fortifying gulp of coffee, Percival answers. “Uh huh. I’ll leave you to it then, darling.” He gathers up his empty plate, levitating it to the sink. Credence looks simultaneously relieved at the end of the interrogation and delight at the pet name.

Percival smooths his hand over Credence’s head, bending down for a kiss when the boy turns his head up eagerly, a sunflower seeking light. He breaks the kiss before it gets any more heated than a quick swipe of tongue, fearing that if he continues, he’d end up hauling Credence onto the dining table, impaling him on his cock, egg and grease ruining both their outfits.

He parts reluctantly, summoning his briefcase and stepping into his boots. “I’ll miss you,” he says, stroking Credence’s cheek tenderly, nudging nose to nose, sighing deeply.

Credence wraps a reassuring hand around Percival’s wrist. “And I’ll be here when you get back.” He gives Percival a tiny shove. “Go. Or you’ll be late.”

Percival smiles ruefully, picking up his briefcase. Unsheathing his wand from his pocket, he take a deep breath and lets the familiar sucking feeling of apparition take over him.

***

Credence watches as Mr Graves apparates away, hurrying back to the kitchen when he is sure that the man wouldn’t be back. He crafts a letter to Ms Queenie first, tongue poking out as he concentrates on pouring his thanks into the note, cheeks heating up as he skirts around what he and Mr Graves did.

By the time he coaxed the owl down from its perch to deliver the note, Credence is practically trembling with excitement and trepidation. Summoning the bunch of bananas he kept in the pantry, he trips up the stairs, determinedly looking everywhere but the fruits levitating in front of him.

It had been an idea, a thought that had lingered in the back burner of his mind for some time now, but he had been too afraid to try it out. He’d first seen the unnatural act - painfully intimate - in the back alley of a street when Mary Lou sent him to the edge of town to pass out the pamphlets. He had slipped into the dark corridor for a moment, just to hide from the public’s view and to also, although it felt dangerously wrong at that time, to shirk from his duty.

But the alley was already occupied. A man, tall and broad, a hat covering much of his face, cursing lowly and grasping the hair of a well dressed lady kneeling in front of him. Blasphemous, worshipful - Credence doesn’t know which word fits. Although she bobs her head with frantic passion, subservient-like and lowly at his feet, it was clear that the lady was enjoying it. She was powerful yet diminished, in control yet being used, and Credence could only gape at the scene, wondering if it were a punishment or reward for his abandoning his duty.

The couple had tidied up quick, the man close to shouting and threatening at Credence, but Credence had already turned and fled, the image of the man’s ruddy cock, long and thick and strangely enticing, burned in his mind. That night, and many nights after, he dreamed of being in the position of the lady, could almost feel the weight and thickness stuffing him full, feeding him what he secretly wants.

Credence eases himself onto Mr Graves’ bed, the scent of the man almost enough to make him abandon his plans and just frot against the bed until he comes.

He plucks the first banana, peeling it and eyeing the length with trepidation. He doesn’t know where to start, except for the rudimentary action of putting it as far down his throat and bobbing his head up and then. Taking a deep breath, he slowly pushing the fruit in, noting at the last minute that it might be best to tuck his teeth under his lip.

It was… uncomfortable. Credence swallows around the length, the blockage around his throat easing at the bob and push of his tongue. It was getting hard to breathe around the girth, the slightly rounded tip nudging the back of his throat, yet he finds it strangely comforting, his world narrowing to the foreign feel of unknown territory, cloistered and warmed by his mouth.

Unconsciously, he moves his hips, pressing his groin against Mr Graves’ pillow, rubbing his cock into it. Credence whines - the panties were obstructing his pleasure, again - the sound choked and muffled by the banana. Pulling it out, he slides it back in slowly, closing his eyes as his breathing shortens, vice grip of his throat massaging the fruit.

He imagines it to be Mr Graves’ cock, thick and perfect and pulsing in his mouth, and his hips pumps almost involuntarily.

“Oh!” Credence grinds experimentally, liking the shot of bone melting lust that burns through him. He swallows more of the banana, the length disappearing down his throat, eyes tearing up as he works to push past the resistance. It hurts so good, so much like Mr Graves’ tattooing bruises into his thighs, and Credence bobs his head enthusiastically, choking and gurgling as he takes the fruit down as far as it can go.

He pulls out when he feels the edges of his vision blurs, slurping up the saliva that drips down his chin, smearing it across the back of his hand, up his cheek, so so dirty. Whimpering, he humps the pillow, frotting harder and faster, spine arching as he presses down, the fire deep in his stomach pushing down down, lighting him up.

Credence hangs his head down, panting as the feeling overwhelms him, blindly groping for the banana, pushing it down his throat in a single stroke, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he comes. His throat convulses around the fruit, it was almost painful that he couldn’t breathe, almost - freeing.

He slumps down on the bed, sweat sticky and cum tacky inside his panties. The banana, Credence flushes when he realises, is mush by now, and he buries his head into the pillow in his embarrassment.

It takes several tries to clean himself up with magic, mostly because he was still scared that anything too vigorous might scrub the skin off him. When everything is spic and span, the blankets free of creases and sharply pressed, Credence summons Mr Graves’ cologne from the bathroom, spritzing the now pristine pillow with it, hugging it tight in his arms as he thinks about the warmth and comfort of being wrapped close to Mr Graves’ body, the balloon swell of happiness filling the ache in his heart.

Settling down, Credence plucks off another banana, this time adding a little spell to harden it, much like the one he uses for ice when it has not yet froze over. Peeling off the skin, he feels the rush of excitement, the squeeze of his thighs around the pillow. Time for practice.

***  
Percival apparates onto his doormat a few minutes past five, exhaustion weighing him down. Work has never been easy, tedium and long hours taking over much of his time.

But he has something to look forward to now. Someone, rather. The someone who sweeps up to him and kisses him at the doorway, hungry and sweetly clumsy, mumbles how much he has missed Percival, asks about how his day have been, chatter about his own day in return.

Credence is a miracle, his miracle, and Percival doesn't hesitate to tell him that at the doorstep, even as he knead his boy's ass, dirty and quick. Credence blushes, rolling his hips up to the touch, hiding his face at the praise.

"I made dinner," he said, unknotting Percival’s tie, vanishing them to his room. "And dessert too." He smiles coyly at Percival, still unpracticed, endearing and enticing.

Percival presses a hard kiss to his lips. "Perfect," he tells Credence, meaning it every time he says it. "You're perfect."

Dinner is eaten in comfortable silence, ankles hooked under the table, lazy conversation about everything and nothing, strange and comfortable subjects that Credence had been reading up and experiencing pouring out of him. Percival reciprocates the best he can, returning with stories of his own, parries with his own opinion, stroking a thumb along the back of Credence’s hand when affection proves too great to hold back.

"Oh," Credence sets aside his utensils when they finish. "I, um, I have a surprise for you."

Percival raises his eyebrows, pushing back his plate. "Really?"

Almost as if in a dream, a series of unconnected and not necessarily logical events, Credence slides to the floor and crawls over to his legs.

Percival scrambles back, the legs of his chair squealing loudly. "Credence! What -"

But Credence only smiles enigmatically, pushing his face into Percival's lap, nuzzling open mouthed into his crotch. "I thought you'd like some dessert, Daddy." He peeks up coquettishly, and Percival turns dizzy with the way his blood rushes to his cock. "I've been practicing for you."

He presses his cheeks into the bulge, cat-like, marking with his scent, unzipping Percival with slightly trembling hands, flinching back when his cock springs hard and leaking, smacking his face.

"Daddy..." Credence exhales long and reverent, the puff of air making Percival leak. "Daddy, you're so big."

And screw it, he deserves it, deserves this lovely boy, his reward, so he twines a hand through Credence hair and guides his boy down, down, down.

Credence takes the tip easy, nervous swallows and eager gulps making Percival groan, fucking upwards with shallow thrusts, uncaring when Credence chokes. His boy will get used to it soon enough, to getting his mouth used.

He trails his finger in the shell of Credence’s ear, rubs the silky skin behind it, reaches further down in a vice grip on the back of his neck. Holds his pretty boy in place as he thrusts up.

Credence chokes, eyes watering as he draws back a little, tip still snug in his mouth. The trail of saliva that follow his withdrawal drips, honey slow, down Percival's cock onto Credence’s chin. Credence rubs his plush lips across the thick head with a sigh, coating his lips with a light gloss, tongue flicking out in tiny licks, pressing into the slit. He's enamored, obsessed, and he's determined again, swallowing down as deep as he can go, chasing the cloistered feel until he feels the head hit the back of his throat, massaging and squeezing.

"My beautiful little cocksucker," Percival begins to push his head down in a rhythm, letting the slick, wet sound of his boy's throat fill the room. "You love it, don't you? When I fuck your throat like a cunt, when I choke you till you can't breath." Credence makes an embarrassed whine, a hand slipping from Percival’s thigh go his own dick. "Oh you like being used, don't 'cha? Dirty little slut, my useful little boy."

Credence bobs his head enthusiastically, still sloppy and graceless, and Percival grabs his boy's head, sets the speed of his fucking.

"I knew I had to fuck those lips the moment I saw you." Percival grunts as Credence tries to accommodate his length, mouth stretching wider than before. He traces the stretch, slips a thumb in to rub the inside of his cheek. "Those cocksucker lips, teasing me. This is all you need, isn't it darling?"

Credence nods, the muscles of his arms working as he jerks himself, lavishing in Percival’s words. He's a mess again, slippery and sticky with saliva and precum, almost like his afternoon practices yet a hundred times better. It's easier to lose his head in this, to love the velvety pulsing heat in his mouth, the thickness blocking his thoughts, his breath, his fears and pain.

It’s too much. Percival pulls the boy’s head off, smearing precum and saliva across lips and cheek, wipe away tear tracks as they appear. Credence closes his eyes, lavish the attention, clears his throat as he tries to gain his voice back.

“Please, sir,” He looks up at Percival, eyes wide and earnest, a masterpiece of Percival’s making. “Can I have some more?”

And who was Percival to deny such a sweetly asked request? He stuffs his boy’s mouth full, turning his head to rut against the inside of his cheek, tracing over the bulge of his cockhead as they punch an imprint into his mouth.

"Stick your tongue out a little, darling, and lick - yes, just like that - Merlin!" Percival's head falls back at the sensation, his hips bucking mercilessly, holding Credence's head in place as he chases his release. It's too much - the innocent, teary gaze of his boy, the suffocating wetness of his mouth, the knowledge that Credence must have done _stuff_ that afternoon to prepare for this and -

He doesn't pull Credence away when he comes; rather, he presses his boy closer, curls forward with a groan, shielding him for his own personal viewing, watches as he spurts his cum into Credence's belly. It's a high he chases, cresting higher still when Credence panics and push at him, throat working as he tries to swallow as much as he can.

Percival knows his cruel streak, knows from Credence's sputters that his boy wasn't expecting the torrent, letting the excess drip from his lips like ambrosia. Knows that he's fallen in love with the tear streaked, cum glazed boy, sweet and needy.

He holds Credence there for a few moments more, makes sure every spurt lands its target in his boy, letting him up slowly, slowly, watching the string of saliva connect from Credence’s pink lips to his dick.

Credence watches in awe, slurping up the strand, nuzzles in close even though he’s going to make an even bigger mess of himself. “Daddy,” he says, voice hoarse. “I’m so full of you.”

Percival chuckles, tugging at Credence’s arm until he stands, groaning at the ache in his knees, straddling Percival’s thighs. Percival tuts and massages the pain away, kissing and kissing the bitter-salty taste of himself, hands moving up from knees to thighs to cock.

“Uh!” Credence jerks a little when Percival grasps his wrist, making him wrap his hand around his own dick. Percival grunts, encasing his hand around his boy’s smaller one, making them stroke and rub in a rough rhythm.

Credence squirms and cries his way through his orgasm, thrusting his hips up into the warm cocoon of their joined hands, pain from earlier forgotten. Percival catches his release in a cupped palm, brings Credence down gently with kisses and soft words, makes him lick his own release, feed him like a baby.

“Taste good, doesn’t it?” Percival croons, hungry beast seizing his heart as he watch Credence devour his own spend, licking between the webbing of his fingers, throwing himself into the kiss to share the flavour. “Such a good little boy, learning and growing for Daddy.”

Credence hums, slipping off Percival’s thighs, adjusting his ruined shirt. He grins shyly at Percival. “I made actual dessert, though.” He turns to collect it from the oven, bending down to give a magnificent view of his ass and tiny puckered hole to Percival.

“Oh yeah?” Percival says distractedly, too busy ogling the view. “What did you make?”

Credence turns around, warm pastry in his hands and mischievous smile on his lips. “Banana pie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> And ye, I know the banana thing really isn't plausible in real life and I laughed so hard writing it but let's just pretend it's possible ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence finds a porn stash and gets caught

It’s a novel thing, being cuddled snug as a bug in Mr Graves’ bed. He’s pressed tightly against Mr Graves’ chest, arms curled around his torso, face against the back of his neck. Credence can feel the soft puffs of air while Mr Graves snores gently.

It’s a new development, precipitating soon after their first… intimate encounter. Credence had felt unmoored, so cold and alone in his bed. Even the conjured stars weren’t enough to calm him down. In the end, he had huddled himself in his blanket and dragged it like a cape to Mr Graves’ room. He pushed open the door as quietly as he could, letting the light spill in and illuminate Mr Graves’ stern, craggy face, smoothed over with sleep.

Credence had crawled into the slim space in the corner, careful not to jostle Mr Graves’ sprawled limbs, and fell asleep curled in a ball. Even though Mr Graves’ strong arms aren’t holding him like he wished it would and his sleeping space is small, the blanket provided a poor substitute of comfort and Mr Graves’ quiet snoring lulls him into rest.

He wakes the next morning next to Mr Graves, spooned on his side, feeling wanted and loved as the solid bulk of muscles shields him from pain and insecurity.

Mr Graves is watching him, he realised, and he pushed away sheepishly, apologies already bubbling from his lips.

“No, stay.” Mr Graves beckoned him back, circles his wrist loosely, smiles warm and soft, and Credence thinks, oh, I might be falling for him.

So Credence lets himself lie back, closes his eyes and stretches in delight as Mr Graves scratches his scalp gently, indulging in slow, wet kisses that leads to nowhere but home.

And Mr Graves looks at him like he’s perfect, like he’s worth something other than his low self esteem and battered body. He dresses Credence in pretty clothes, hugs him whenever his memories become too much, listens and laughs and tells Credence how much he means to him. Mr Graves is gruff and gentle, short on words yet generous with gestures, and Credence is starting to believe that he’s precious, he’s good enough for his skin.

Credence feels he needs to do something in return. He knows he needs to. He does it by carefully shaving Mr Graves every morning, makes sure he’s spick and span, cooks dinners and cleans the house, pushes him into bed when he becomes too engrossed in his work. He does it with little actions and words, hopes fervently that they knit into something better.

There must be more. There could be. Credence wants to be closer to Mr Graves, and if he can’t do it emotionally, he could at least start with the physical aspect of it.

He lies in bed, rubbing small circles absently across Mr Graves’ skin, thinking of a plan. Yes, pornography would be a good place to start, and if he could find out where Mr Graves hides his collection, Credence could make it all work.

***

Of course, a wizard would hide his porn collection in his pensieve.

Credence had planned his move for several days now, thinking hard about the plausible places that Mr Graves would hide such sordid material. Sure, Mr Graves have started to come home with that hungry look in his eyes, spelling Credence’s clothes off and thoroughly making a fine mess of them both but Credence knows there has to be more to sex than just handjobs and blowjobs. And while both are perfectly pleasant activities he would gladly partake in with Mr Graves for as long as he could, he feels - empty. Inside out.

He has tried it before, pushing hesitant fingers in himself, spilled the sheets with lube as he tries to take more fingers, muffled his screams as he brushes across a spot that makes lightning arch behind his eyes. But Mr Graves never seem to do that to him, and Credence craves the feel of thicker fingers, of Mr Graves’ big dick stuffing him full, connecting them together so intimately.

He had wandered into the pensieve room accidentally while doing his chores. There were books on shelves too high to reach, so he had spelled the feather duster to float with wobbly staggers to the top shelf to swipe off the dirt.

He must have hit a secret button or knocked over a particular book. There was a quiet snick, and the entire bookshelf started to move.

Credence jumped back, tripping over his feet and falling to the floor. He scrambles back, watching in surprise as the bookshelf turns into a door that leads into a dimly lit cave, ominous and mysterious.

Credence clenched his fist, nervously rubbing his right thumb, bringing them close to his chest. Slowly, he creeps in, uttering a soft ‘lumos’ to guide his way through the dark.

It was enormous. The stone walls were carved to accommodate shelves which rise up above his sight. There were stoppered bottles everywhere, surrounding him, stacked higher and higher than he could even see. The cave is decorated sparsely; except for the heavily designed carpet he was standing on and a giant bowl on a stand in the middle of the room, there was little else. 

Credence turns slowly, cataloging the place, unable to help the way his jaw drops in awe. How could something half the size of the house hide in here?

His eye catches on a cabinet with floral designs carved at the corners. Upon closer inspection, Credence saw that it wasn’t locked, just closed. Curious, he pulls it open, gently swinging the cabinet doors open -

\- And quickly slam it shut again, cheeks flaming. Credence takes a few minutes to compose himself, the blush on his cheeks spreading to his chest, the image of what’s inside branded into his brain. When he managed to calm himself down, Credence gingerly opens the cabinet once more. 

The inside of the cabinet was filled with - toys. Credence doesn’t know what else to call them. He recognises the ones shaped like penises, exquisitely carved with every detail lovingly embedded. There were many sizes, some the size of his own and others almost as large as his arm. There were others shaped like a pair of pouty lips perched atop a cylinder, and yet more which resembled pearls on string, each bead bigger than the last.

There were more, a dizzying array of them, each one packaged in a protective sphere and stacked neatly into categories. Credence could feel his brain going into overdrive, trying to think of the different ways they could be use.

Closing the cabinet with care, Credence promised himself to ask Mr Graves what they were for and, if he were very, very good, that Mr Graves use them on him. He thinks of the biggest penis-shaped toy, thinks of how it would stretch his ass or mouth open, and shivers.

Turning away, he approached the bowl, full of clear water and calm. It’s a pensieve, he remembers, meant to be filled with memories so that one could revisit them again. He’d never seen one in person and, running a finger through the cool liquid, he had been so excited to use them.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his wand. Here goes nothing, he thought, swishing it through the air and saying clearly, “Accio pornorgraphy!”

Immediately, there was a great clanking noise as the appropriate bottles rushed at him, pelting down from their shelves.

Credence squeaked, shooting off a levitating charm as he curled in on himself, bracing for the impact. 

He peeks out from beneath his fringe, relieved to see the bottles halted in front of him, floating in mid air, their contents swirling lazily. He lets them land gently on the carpeted floor, picking one up at random.

There were no labels on it except for a few curious symbols and squiggles. Shrugging, Credence unstoppered the bottle and pours the contents in.

Black liquid leaks out from the mouth, dissolving upon contact with the pensieve’s liquid, forming into vague shapes at the bottom of the bowl. Squinting, Credence leans in closer, trying to get a better look. There were two men, that much he can tell, one smaller in stature than the other, both naked, seemingly in a bedroom. Credence hovers, until his nose almost kissed the surface, craning to get a good look. It was all so foggy and unclear. How could he see -

His nose dips into the water and suddenly, as if pulled by a yank, Credence falls forward, face first, down down down into the waters.

He lands on his feet, feather soft, so unlike the jarring impact he was expecting. Credence looks around in shock, the world brightly coloured and so unlike the grim and monochrome cave.

A soft sucking sound, wet slick and familiar, draws Credence attention to the big desk at the back of the room. Credence realised, with a nasty shock, that he is actually inside the memory.

He creeps closer, cocking his head as he examines the tall, stately man sitting in the high backed chair, waistcoat and shirt still on. The man looks distinguished, salt and pepper streaked hair much like Mr Graves’ own, but parted neatly inside of an undercut. He is also totally oblivious to Credence’s abrupt arrival.

Credence recalls what he had read, about how memories are there in vivid details to peruse but not interact with, and lets out a sigh of relief. At least he doesn’t have to interact with anybody. 

The man is looking down, beneath his desk the slick, slurping sound is coming. It hits Credence like an Erumpent that the person, the dark haired younger man he had blearily glanced at before he fell into the basin, is giving a rather hearty blowjob to the older man.

He pads over to the table, sinking down to his knees until the young man is in view, crawls under the desk until they are sharing the same cramped space. Credence watches as the man, hands laced tightly behind his back, bobs enthusiastically on the other man’s cock.

The younger man is handsome, with sharp cheekbones and large pretty eyes, forehead creased in concentration and discomfort and the older man presses his head down, slowly, slowly, the thick ruddy length disappearing inside his throat. He fights to keep it down, fails when he’s almost pressed to the roots, coughs and gargles when the older man refuses to pull out.

Credence moves in closer, eyes darting from the obscene way the younger man’s neck stretch to accommodate the girth to the older man’s lazy smile, large hands unrelenting with its pressure. Unbidden, Credence undo his flies, pressing at the root of his cock as his shoulders scrunched up, his belly burning with need. it was dark and cramped under the desk, space so tight he could almost brush against the older man’s leg when he palms himself, but Credence love the womb like alcove, would gladly serve at Mr Graves’ feet if it were possible.

The older man finally relents, let the other man breath, teases the wanting lips with passes of his thick mushroom head when the other whines. “You want it?” He asks, voice gruff and gently mocking. The younger man nods frantically, open his mouth just a smidge to reveal the tantalising pink tongue. He moves forward to capture the tip, only for the man to pull him back painfully by his hair, doing the shallowest of thrust, glancing the head in fleeting touches across the tongue.

“Ah, ah, ah.” The older man grasps his cock with his free hand, bringing the other’s face close to slap it hard against his cheek. “Good boys wait for their treat.” The solid thwack of his cock makes Credence’s own jump, and he leans forward before he reminds himself that he couldn’t touch the both of them anyway.

The other man flinch with each hit, an instinctive reaction, but recovers to relax to the tight hold in his hair, turning his face to receive the hits on his face.

“That’s better.” The hits becomes smooth glides, up and down, trailing precum down the man’s nose and forehead before he is pressed close to broad thighs, face nestled against the other man’s balls.

“Lick,” the older man demands, groaning as he feels the wetness coat his balls, the slurping sounds filling the room once more. He pulls at himself leisurely, makes him fit one, then the other in his mouth.

Credence palms himself harder now, unable to stand the growing pressure. He would do this to Mr Graves, he would! If only there was a way to ask without stuttering or, or to get his own pensieve so he can learn and practice by watching over and over…

In front of him, the younger man is deepthroating the cock now, rhythmic slide, gasping and gargling thick in his throat making Credence go hot with arousal. He pulls himself out of his underwear, red lace ones that he loves to roll around in, touching himself with secretive jerks like he was intruding upon such an intimate scene.

He is so close, close enough to see the drool running down the younger man’s chin when he chokes, watch his cheeks puff and his mouth open to let the mixture of precum and saliva run down his neck to his chest, close enough to watch tear bead up in his eyes.

Suddenly, the door swings open, and a pair of heels clacked across the floor. Credence shoots up, almost banging his head against the bottom of the desk, ready to apologise for his shameful deed, when he remembers that no one could see him anyway.

A busty blonde bustles across the room, a stack of files held in her hand. With a pat of his hand and a whispered “Stay”, the older man lifts his chin to smile at her, as if he isn’t getting his rock hard dick stuck halfway down a tight throat.

“Yes, Alina?” He leans back and gestures for her to speak. “What do you want?”

Slowly, with as little noise as possible, the younger man smirks around the girth and starts to duck his head to swallow.

The older man made no reaction except for the slightest squeeze around his chair. The woman, Alina, started a long ramble about fiscal number and market deficit, handing over the files one by one while flipping over others to read aloud.

Credence glance down, delighted at such a bold move, watches as the younger man draws back up to tease the slit, running his tongue under the frenulum, push the foreskin up until it forms a well around the head, dip the tip of his tongue it, sipping delicately. His eyes are trained upwards, mischievous glint in his eyes. 

Alina leaves promptly after the older man hastily hands her the signed documents, closing the door with a decisive click, the flick of her blonde hair reminding Credence so much of Queenie.

The moment the lock slides into place, the older man fists the other’s hair, dragging him to his feet.

“Naughty boy,” he growls, giving the younger man’s ass a sharp slap. The younger man yelps, but grins anyway, cheeky and playful, sucks two fingers in his mouth when they are proffered to him.

The older man kisses him roughly, squeezing and slapping the reddening flesh of the man’s behind. “Bad boys don’t get to come.” He sits the younger man on his lap, groping blindly until he finds the man’s hole, stuffing his fingers in, wet with saliva, spreading him wide, preparing him with angry speed.

Credence shuffles closer, crouches down next to the chair, tentative hand gripping the hand rest. Mr Graves had never touched him like that, down there, and with the way the younger man moans and whines, starts to wriggles and bounce up and down in time to the fingering, makes Credence want, makes the good ache in his belly start again.

It’s even more entrancing watching the man’s huge cock, shiny with the mixture of saliva and precum, push into the younger man. Credence didn’t believe it would fit - how could it? - but he watches, eyes wide, as the bulbous head pops in, the younger man slides down with a sigh, head thrown back and just the slightest bit of pain clear on his face.

A loud slap on the younger man’s ass startles Credence. “Fuck yourself on me, baby,” the older man said, flexing his thighs as he relaxed back, content to let the other do the hard work. He reclines back in his seat, kingly and smug, devours the sight before him as the younger man braces himself and slowly rocks up and down.

“Faster.” The younger man pants, trying to fulfill his request, thighs trembling with the effort. He pushes himself too high; the tip pops out - and he whines, pressing it back it with quick fingers, seating himself all the way down, squirming and rocking his hips back and forth. 

“Please,” he pleads, hips pumping on automatic now, not thinking, only feeling. “Please, sir, I need - ah!” He shifts, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he catches on an angle, moaning wetly as he grinds down harder on the spot. Credence tilts his head, confused, even as his hand drifts down to his cock once more, pumping his flushed erection hard and fast. His own hips bearing down onto nothing, hole clenching around emptiness, in sync with the younger man’s downward stroke. He was so close now, just a little bit more - so he closes his eyes, listens to the sounds of slapping bodies and pretends that it’s just him and Mr Graves.

Credence never gets to the end of his fantasy or, indeed, the end of the scene in front of him.  
“Enjoying yourself?” Mr Graves amused voice floats somewhere above his head. Credence’s eyes flies open and he scrambles back, mouth dropping open in shock.

“Mr Graves! I was… I was just -” He hangs his head, unable to look at Mr Graves who stands above him with his hands in his pocket. He had just discovered a very private stash of Mr Graves’ after all and proceeded to mess around with it. Of course Mr Graves is upset. He’ll humiliate Credence. Throw him out on the streets with his pants still around his ankles. Expose his perverted fantasies to the whole world. Send him to the cathouse. There’s no avoiding it now, so Credence tucks his legs in a close as possible, waiting for the end.

“Oh, darling.” Mr Graves’ voice sounds so close now, and Credence flinches as a hand lands on his shoulder. But no pain came, no sharp words, only a soft rubbing on his collarbone. Cautiously, Credence peers up.

Mr Graves is squatting down, bemused and concerned in equal measures. He pulls Credence close, takes his chin with two fingers and turns them so that they are watching the scene together.

The younger man is bucking with abandon now, aided by the hard thrusts of his superior, both lost in their ecstasy. Mr Graves’ hand travel up to his neck, still softly stroking, and Credence’s flagging erection starts to take interest again.

“Do you like what you see, darling?” Mr Graves’ voice is hot next to his ears, his lips whispering filth, promises. “Would you like me to fill you up like that, make you take my fat cock in your ass, make you work for it until you beg for me to fuck you harder, faster? I’ll take you over my desk, spread open your cheeks and fuck right in, I’ll mark you up like the proper twink you are.” He laughs, the vibrations sending shock down Credence’s body. 

Mr Graves takes him in his hand, pulling firmly, making Credence cry out. “It’s no surprise that I favour young, black-haired twinks getting fucked by someone older, Credence. I’ve got a whole collection.” He nips the lobe of Credence’s ear, thumb rubbing the tip of his cock. “In fact, I’ll have to take you through each and every one, and maybe we’ll try to re-enact some of my favourites.”

“F-favourites?” Credence gasps, slowly losing all forms of higher thought to the mounting pleasure. 

“Oh yes,” Mr Graves answers silkily. “I’d love to lie you on your back, head dangling from the edge, and fuck your throat. Or maybe we can make you fit two dicks at once - a dildo and my cock - make your pretty cunt gape. Or we could do it against the mirror, and I’ll show you just how gorgeous you are when you come. You’d like that won’t you, darling?”

“Mr Graves!” It was too much. Credence feels tears spilling down his cheeks. Turning his head, he grasps for Mr Graves’ chin, tilts his head clumsily into a kiss as he spills messily into Mr Graves’ palm. Before them, the younger man - the twink, Mr Graves said - comes with a groan, digging his fingers into the older man’s back.

Credence lies in Mr Graves’ arms, exhausted and riding his high as the scene fades and they are slowly pulled back into the cave. The words that Mr Graves had told him still resounds in him, makes his heart beat faster.

“Will we really do that?” He asks softly, lifting his head to look at Mr Graves. “All - all of it? Everything you said?”

Mr Graves smiles, bending down to give him a chaste kiss. “Everything,” he promises. “And more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho ho hope y'all enjoyed that! Kudos and comments are greatly welcomed!
> 
> As always, come yell at/with me about this fic or Gradence in general on my tumblr: ambedoandangst.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More smut and a kinda limp ending

Credence shifts in his makeshift seat, trying to find a comfortable spot. “Daddy?”

Percival’s hands flexes around Credence’s waist, helping him settle in. “Yes, darling?”

“I can feel you sloshing around inside, daddy.”

Percival groans, his head falling forward to lean against Credence’s neck. He could feel the boy giggle and then gasp as the slight change in direction caused more cum to leak out of his stretched hole. “You can’t just say these things to me, darling. Daddy ain’t a young man anymore and you’ll be the death of me.”

Credence pouts, finally sinking down and staying still. “I’m just saying daddy; I feel so warm and full of you.”

Percival hums and strokes his hair, letting Credence close his eyes and rest against his chest with a sigh.

“Did I tire you out?” Credence nods sleepily. “I thought I did. You’re insatiable, you know. I had to make you come three times before you stopped squirming enough to take my dick.”

Credence laughs softly against his collarbone, tiny puffs of air caressing his skin. “Only for you, daddy.”

They sit in silence for a while more, fucked out and tired, as more cum slips down their thighs.

Credence sighs, pulling away to get up. “I’d better clean us up before we get sticky.” He summons his wand, preparing to vanish the mess with a flick of his wrist.

Percival placed his palms on his boy’s chest, stopping him. “Let me.”

Credence cocks his head, confused. His eyes widen as Percival slips out and turns him over to his front, disappearing between his legs. “Daddy are you - ugh!”

Percival grins against his boy’s loose, sloppy hole, rearing up to bite on the plush flesh, leaning down to curl his tongue again, lick and suck himself out from Credence’s velvety walls. Credence could only whimper, too strung out for anything else, having enough mind to shove a pillow under his hips.

Percival takes his time, cleans his boy out thoroughly inside and out, feasts his ears on his boy’s soft cries of “Daddy, daddy,” and the various moans and muffled shrieks when the stubble burn gets him too sensitive.

He finishes with a tender kiss to the tightening hole winking at him, pushing his way to his boy’s mouth to share the taste.

Credence stares at him with starry eyes, fatigue starting to make them fall. “Daddy, you’re too good to me,” he mumbles, rubbing his palm across Percival’s five o’clock shadow. He noses against Percival’s cheeks, opening his arms wide to invite him in. “Come to bed, daddy.”

Percival comes to him, curls up tight, and rocks them both to sleep.

***

Credence doesn’t usually walk around with his hole still gaping, still plugged up tight to keep him loose and wet. But today is a Sunday and Sundays are Mr Graves’ stay home days. It always follows a routine: they wake up, indulge in a leisurely fuck, and doze in bed before Credence heaves himself up to get brunch done.

They had eaten noodles with leftover chicken in bed, sipping on lemonade that Mr Graves had squeezed. They fed each other bits of food, which led to debris spilling everywhere, which led to a rather steamy makeout session where Mr Graves tried to lick him everywhere, from his mouth to his sweet, clenching hole.

Mr Graves had reluctantly retired to his study afterwards, casting a weary glance at his towering paperwork, murmuring an apology to Credence as he retreats into the room. He leaves Credence sticky and sore and full; satisfied, but still weirdly empty.

So Credence does what he likes best: he practices. Some days, he practices his spellwork or his potion making, both of which are improving at astonishing speed, much to his and Mr Graves’ delight. But today, he adheres a dildo to the wall, swallowing it down in one go.

It’s his favourite thing to do; the comforting weight of it on his tongue, the bitter-salty familiar taste, the velvet-steel smoothness pulsing against the roof of his mouth - of course, he’s prefer to suck Mr Graves’ cock over a rubber one that he’s borrowed from Mr Graves’ stash but beggars can’t be chooser.

He was so absorbed in his task, trying to keep his drool from sliding unglamourously down his chin, that he missed to sound of Mr Graves’ door opening, missed to whispered curse and the silent footsteps, lost in his own world until Mr Graves pads up to him silently, vanishing his butt plug and slipping into his loose hole.

Credence pulling away in shock, the dildo slapping his cheeks as he twists his head to look back quickly. "Daddy!" he gasps, fingers moving instinctively to grab Mr Graves' thigh. His hole clenched in surprise, accustoming itself to the sudden stretch, hugging Mr Graves’ cock tight.

Shushing, Mr Graves pulls Credence into a rough kiss, tasting the bitter lube, tongue slipping in excess saliva, before grabbing his hair, pressing firmly, none too gently, back down on the dildo.

Credence chokes - a harsh gargling sound that gives way to a softer, wetter slick as he becomes accustomed to the size, letting Mr Graves' thrust lead the rhythm. He's full once more, and on both ends too! Daddy must be feeling indulgent today.

"Darling, darling," Mr Graves murmurs, twisting his fingers in the strands of hair and pulling. His voice sounds miles away and yet so clear, deep and vibrating like it would speak to Credence’s soul. Credence resurfaces from his feast with a harsh sob, saliva trailing down his chin. "Aren't you such a slut for daddy?"

Credence lose count of the minutes, content in drifting away, anchored so clearly to the eye rolling pleasure of gagging on the dildo, Mr Graves hand guiding, the rough friction of hips pumping and the full weight in his ass grounding him.

Mr Graves leans over his shoulders, draping himself across his back, adding weight until Credence’s arms tremble with the stress of keeping both of them up. "You're hungry, aren't you baby. Thing is," he rolls his hips, gentle, gentle, and then brutally fucks forward, seating himself deep. Credence gags, feeling his throat seized and his eyes tear up. "Thing is, babydoll, you're not gonna milk any cum out of that." Mr Graves thrusts again, and again, equally hard, chasing his release. "And we know how my boy loves his milk, doesn't he? Drink until he's full, until it's flowing from his lips, his nose."

Credence's nose is pressed against the wall now, deep as he can go, rhythmic "glug, glug, glug" the only reply he gives. The pressure in his belly hurts - he needs Daddy's hands on him. Whining, he pushes back, delights when Mr Graves laughs breathlessly and thrusts faster. "How about this, babydoll. I'll fuck my cum into you, and you'll clean me off. Taste yourself on me. Lick the leftovers and get yourself dirty. And then maybe you can warm me up, keep me in your mouth till I get hard and I'll fuck your mouth. One. More. Time." He digs his fingers into hips, bucking forward, almost there, the other hand resting almost gently on Credence's throat, feeling the bulge.

Credence groans, nodding his assent, sloppy sucks and open throat all he can give. He aches to touch himself, to release some of the pain but - Daddy's not done with his reward yet. Weak with pleasure, Credence clench as he feels Graves spill into him, timing the pulses to milk it out.

“You’re a miracle, darling,” Mr Graves whispers in his ear, so close their chest mirror breaths. “I don’t tell you this enough but,” he presses soft little kisses behind Credence’s ear, and Credence melts like an ice cream on a sunny day. “You’re more than I ever deserve, beautiful boy.”

Mr Graves does tell him that enough, Credence thinks as he is carried back to bed. In fact, he tells Credence that everyday, in every possible way he can. But he’s so tired now, limbs to leaden to move, so he curls around Mr Graves and peppers him with kisses, trying to show how much Mr Graves means to him too.

Mr Graves’ doesn’t touch his work for the rest of the day, but he does keep Credence boneless and satisfied for a long while, so Credence counts that as a win.

***

Credence doesn’t exactly have a job at MACUSA - to do that he’d have to apply for a wand permit first and prove to a council of stuffy old wizards that he isn’t prone to transforming into an angry destructive cloud.

But he’s always welcomed to work with Queenie and Tina, and sometimes even with Mr Graves when he needs extra help with filing and note taking.

Credence’s favourite place to be is at Queenie’s desk, squeezed in the corner of a small office and crammed with all sorts of interesting things. Queenie would always insist on stuffing him with homemade snacks and regal him with gossip from the four corners of the fabled halls.

Today, Queenie had greeted him with a smile and a wink, complimenting him with a whisper on the lovely silk undies he had on. Credence blushed deeply, fingers pressing over the bruises on his hips as he thinks about the same damp panties stuffed in his mouth to muffle his screams as Mr Graves pound into him last night.

This time, it was Queenie’s turn to blush. “Oh my, I’m glad that you and Mr Graves are getting along!”

Credence shifts in his seat, brows furrowing as he concentrates on emptying his mind. Mr Graves has kindly lent him his pensieve to put his best memories in, just so they could both relieve it whenever they please but sometimes, Credence can’t help daydreaming about more.

Queenie doesn’t say more about the subject, bless her, but invites Credence to sit down and help her with the enormous pile of letters stacked on her desk. Credence gratefully takes the offer, remembering to cast a self-containing charm around each letter as he opens it. Queenie tells him how proud she is about his improvement in magic, and he beams so hard he almost forget to cast a spell around another Howler.

They sit there chatting, or more likely, sit there hearing Queenie chattering about office gossip, for the next hour or so, making short work on the letters and learning more about how Sally from accounting has spurned Arnold from Communications for the umpteenth time to go out with Diana the new Auror recruit.

Credence doesn’t even notice how time flew until Mr Graves sweeps into the room, his face cold and emotionless, melting away to fondness when he sees Credence laughing at a joke Queenie told.

“Mr Graves!” Credence cries, jumping up to engulf him in a hug, face tucked in his neck. “I missed you so much.”

Mr Graves chuckles, smoothing a hand across the back of his head, the other hand resting possessively on Credence’s hip. “It’s only been nine hours, darling,” he murmurs, kissing Credence’s forehead.

Credence mumbles something that sounds like “still too long to wait for Daddy,” squeezing his arms tighter around Mr Graves’ torso before letting go, flitting back to Queenie for a quick kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go home now, Mr Graves. You must be tired.”

“Not really the word I’d use a the moment but we’ll call it that,” Mr Graves says dryly, sneaking a pinch to Credence’s bum. He nods at Queenie, half a smile gracing his face when he sees her slyly smiling at Credence’s yelp and links arms with his boy, walking the both of them out of the Woolworth Building.

“How many times have I told you that you can call me Percy instead?” Mr Graves says as they stroll to the alleyway.

“More than I remember,” Credence gives a cheeky grin, kissing him on the cheek. “But we mustn't undermine your authority at the office now, can we?”

Mr Graves grumbles, but sweep Credence up into his arms when they reach the deserted alley, empty and dark. “I’ll show you authority,” he growls, kissing Credence deeply. He pushes a curl behind Credence’s ear, press another kiss that he couldn’t resist to the corner of those plush lips. “When we get home, darling, oh the things I’d do to you.”

Credence shivers, tightening his hold. “Show me then,” he whispers, already ready, heart embracing, for whatever comes next. “Show me what you want to do to me, Percy.”

Mr Graves gives him a sharp grin and with a crack, they disappear from the alley, leaving nothing behind except for the faintest taste of cologne and need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... scene! I hope you guys like it! As always, kudos and comments are really really hella appreciated
> 
> Come gab with me on my tumblr: ambedoandangst.tumblr.com  
> I'm currently taking prompts for Gradence so if you want anything written, tada I can help


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